


Whisper My Name

by elisende



Series: Whisper My Name [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Banter, Dark Past, M/M, POV Original Character, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisende/pseuds/elisende
Summary: Twenty years after sharing a forbidden ritual, Langoth meets the bear of an elf he's been longing for ever since.  Will he bend to his own desires, or is his past too much to overcome?
Relationships: Halsin (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Whisper My Name [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079360
Kudos: 16





	Whisper My Name

Langoth wasn’t one to dwell on the past. 

For many reasons, but most of all--he told himself--because it didn’t serve the needs of the present. 

And so when he saw the bear transform into the powerful druid, ritual tattoos twining his weathered cheeks, the same who had claimed him, over twenty summers ago, at a long-forgotten ritual, Langoth was unprepared for the flood of memories, most of them sensory. 

The druid even carried the same runed club he’d used on Langoth. His hands clenched at the recognition.

He heard the druid master Halsin’s words distantly, felt the curious stare of his companions as the silence grew. Words, it seemed, were required. 

“The tadpole?” Shadowheart prompted in a pointed whisper.

Somehow, the worm writhing behind his eyeball seemed to diminish in importance. It might have had something to do with the druid’s challenging gaze, or perhaps the suggestion of a smile on his lips. 

Or maybe how he’d whispered into Langoth’s ear as he’d penetrated him with his member, thick as an oaken branch, whispering sweet, meaningless words--how for years after, in the night’s depths, he would imagine that encounter and again and again, but this time, it would be Langoth’s name on the druid’s lips….

Astarion tutted, rolled his bloodred eyes, and resumed the conversation on Langoth’s behalf. Yes, they were looking for a healer. Could Halsin _possibly_ trouble himself to assist with their mind devouring tadpole issue…?

When Halsin spoke, it was to Langoth that he responded, his face grim. Was there worry in his eyes? Worry for him?

He could barely feel his feet as they ascended the dungeon stairs to vanquish the last remaining goblin leader--Dror Ragzlin, and his weary bones told him it would be their hardest fight yet. He glanced over at Halsin, back in his wild shape. 

The druid had recognized him, hadn’t he? Suddenly he was unsure.

“Someone’s in lo-ove,” Astarion teased in a singsong voice, just below the threshold of the others’ hearing. He bared his fangs in a simulacrum of a smile. “Should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Langoth said, keeping his eyes forward, bow drawn. He’d never wished more for a goblin sneak attack, but unfortunately, they’d cleared all of the temple except for Ragzlin’s chambers at its heart.

“Oh, I think you do. If we manage to survive this next little scrap with the goblins, you’re going to spill everything, aren’t you, darling? And what exactly was that little exchange with the Priest of Pain about, hmm?” 

Normally, Astarion’s menacing flirtations amused him, but not today. Not for this. He lunged at the vampire spawn, hunting dagger to his throat. 

“Leave it,” he said, as softly as he could, pinning him with his fiercest stare. Astarion only laughed, damn him. Ahead, Shadowheart had stopped; they’d reached Ragzlin. 

He’d never been so ready for a fight; usually, they filled him with dread. That he might experience the helpless feeling of lying prone and powerless before his enemies, or feel the pains of death wrack his body, organs shutting down, the light of the world dimming. The bloodied edge of a raised maul, poised to brain him.

He had come closer to death more times since the Nautiloid abduction than ever before in his life. The experiences--whether he was fighting giant, venomous spiders, screeching intellect devourers, or most horrifically of all, the deadly harpies--had terrorized even his dreams. They reminded him of the time before. His first and most traumatic brush with death, and at the hands of his own brothers. 

And yet, rather than study the layout of the hall, pacing the dim corners and finding the best advantage its terrain had to offer as they always did, he pushed past Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, and the bear that was the Druid Halsin, kicking down the door and launching an arrow right at Ragzlin’s head. 

It only served to enrage the fiend.

But then the bear bounded in roaring before him, shielding him from the worst of the retaliation. Langoth felt every blow as though it were his own flesh being pierced, burned, mauled.

It was a brutal fight, and he had no shame in admitting they would have lost it without the druid. Especially as he’d rushed in so thoughtlessly. He had paid the price; his bow arm was barely still attached to his body, a mangled pulp of gore and broken bones. 

“What in the _hells_ , Langoth,” Gale said, groaning as Shadowheart hefted him off the stone ground, and not for the first time that day. “I know you’re not exactly a Bezantur scholar, but a frontal assault on a _hobgoblin_ and twelve of his minions? What possessed you?” 

He felt a stab of remorse as Gale began hacking up blood. How needlessly, recklessly stupid he’d been. _Never apologize_ , the ghost of his brother reminded him, silencing his apology to the mage before it began.

Nearby, Halsin transformed out of his wild shape and Astarion chuckled knowingly, licking the blood from his dagger. “Oh, I think I can guess what possessed him.”

“Are you alright?” Halsin murmured, only to him. Before Langoth could answer, the druid muttered some healing words over his maimed arm. He winced and hissed as the magic knitted his muscle, skin, and bones back together. When he tested the flex of his hand, it wasn’t even stiff, much less sore. He glanced up at the druid, and electricity seemed to snap as their eyes connected.

“Er, I could use some healing too,” Gale said. His tone was wry but the effect was spoiled as he began choking on his own aspirated blood. Halsin abruptly turned and it was like basking on a rock when the sun had suddenly vanished behind a cloud.

Once he’d seen to Gale and mended Wyll’s cracked skull, Halsin addressed the whole party, though once again he looked directly at Langoth. 

“Return to the grove, I’ll make my own way there.”

He nodded, feeling Astarion’s eyes on him, sensing him smirk. “And our... problem?” he asked.

“Once I’ve seen to some matters, then we can discuss your problem,” Halsin promised. He left without another word, changing his form to that of a mouse to slip past the drunken goblins still cavorting outside the shattered sanctum.

“Onward,” Langoth said, and the word sounded harsh even in his own ears. 

He felt poised as though on some precipice, staring down into the dark, unknown shadows that lay beneath. And the ground beneath his feet had just given way.

*

He delayed their return to the grove as long as possible, even tried to find Lae’zel’s cursed Creche. If he had hoped Astarion would forget his obvious connection with the druid, he was disappointed. The hectoring grew so obnoxious that he finally commanded the elf to stay at their camp, and there he remained, in a sulk.

The air was sweet around the grove: vetiver, blackcurrants, and sun-warmed cedar. He’d recognized the smell as being somehow familiar when they’d first arrived, weeks ago. Comforting, even safe. Now the connection with the druid seemed so obvious. It had been in his skin, his hair, his mouth--every part of him that Langoth had smelled and tasted. 

Through the blood-spattered gate, Halsin was waiting for them--for him.

Even as he spoke to them of the grove’s fate, the elf seemed to be watching him for some sign of--what? Recognition? Remorse? Or did he fear Langoth would give away their secret?

He seemed about to turn away from them but stopped himself. “Before you speak to Zevlor,” he said slowly, “May I--have a word?”

What could he do but agree? 

He felt his companions’ eyes on them as they slipped behind a toppled statue at the far end of the grove. This, Langoth decided, was his chance. 

He had already decided that if Halsin had recognized him--for it had been a long time ago, and he didn’t doubt the druid had more than his share of enthusiastic partners--he would be cool, reserved. Distant. 

He could ill afford any distraction and his feelings about Halsin were too complex. The way the endless field of stars in the night sky were complex, or the depthless mysteries of the sea. The unseen roots of an ancient arakhor tree, spanning continents. 

But all of it fell away when, as soon as they were out of sight, Halsin took Langoth’s face in his hands and spoke the words, “I have thought of that night every solitary day of the past twenty years.” Langoth’s resolve crumbled to sand.

He looked up into the druid’s hazel eyes; he felt he could read him so easily, see the weariness, sadness, and abject loneliness of Halsin’s soul, even alongside his strength, that steely will that would not bend or sunder to any assault. Before, he’d seen the scars on his body, as the dawn brightened the forest, telling of innumerable battles fought and won. More battles than Langoth had years.

His proud words caught in his throat and he found himself instead kissing Halsin, with a passion, a need, that frightened him. It was just like that night. He was losing himself, body and soul.

“Here?” he asked--no, begged, the word half-breath. 

He could see Halsin prevaricate, certainly about to command patience, they had waited this long. But instead, he said, “You’ll need to be quiet. Can you?”

Langoth remembered their night together, how he had broken the ritual, cried out, even begged. Hot blood rushed to his cheeks. He nodded.

“Bite my arm, if you need to,” Halsin said, his sonorous voice suddenly hoarse. There was no time to undress; how long could their “conversation” reasonably last before his companions grew impatient, or curious? Before a tiefling or druid chanced over to this little alcove?

All thought melted away as the druid stood behind him and brushed aside his long hair to trail kisses down his exposed neck. He gasped to feel his hot breath on his neck once again, and memories of the past threatened to collapse in on the present. Halsin’s rough fingers found the front of his jerkin, loosened the laces to stroke his chest beneath.

“Quickly,” he reminded Halsin. The druid didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift, decisive motion, he pulled down Langoth’s breeches, then pushed aside his own tunic. He felt Halsin’s erection pressing against his bare flesh and moaned into the other man’s open palm, already cupping his mouth in anticipation. Was it possible that he was even bigger than he’d remembered?

Halsin paused for a moment, breath still hot on his neck, then Langoth felt the viscous touch of oil smear his skin. He’d poured a flask of it on his cock, thank the gods for that. Now his attention was back on Langoth, and his fingers slipped between his cheeks, finding his ass and slipping inside easily with the oil. 

A fire that had been kindling within him exploded into full, roaring burn and he moaned again into Halsin’s hand, too loudly this time.

“Shhh,” the druid said. He shifted closer to offer his meaty, gauntleted arm to bite. Langoth sighed against it instead, and Halsin kissed his neck again, with the utmost tenderness, before sliding his cock deep inside him.

Now he did bite, hard, making the druid suck in his breath. The sensation was too much for Langoth, far too much, and yet exactly what he had longed for, like a cup filled exactly to its brim. The druid pulled him tighter with his strong arm wrapped around Langoth’s face even as his hips found a rhythm, a tempo to which Langoth’s desire also beat. 

The druid’s breath was ragged, gasping. Heat coursed down his body, up again, like some kind of healing magic, bringing life back into his limbs where fear and death had too often resided, these past weeks. And before. The time before, when he had nearly--

Another thrust, too deep, and he cried out instead of biting. Halsin hushed him again, reminding him, with his powerful embrace, that he was safe.

“Whisper my name,” Langoth murmured. “Please.”

Halsin bent lower, so his lips, impossibly soft, brushed his ear, and whispered, “Langoth” as he thrust again and again, relentless. His lips found Langoth’s neck once more, his hectic breath and soft groans telling him how close he was to coming. The sun emerged from the clouds and warmed the rocks where they were braced. In that moment of perfect ecstasy, sun beating down on them, they both climaxed as one, Langoth’s bite on the druid’s arm drawing blood.

They rested there some moments before Halsin withdrew, taking Langoth in his arms and kissing him deeply again. “I have missed your taste,” the druid sighed.

Langoth rested his head on his strong shoulder, the demons at bay for a time, feeling only the perfect peace of Halsin’s embrace, his own satisfaction, the tranquility of the grove. 

“We should go,” he finally said. “What will we--?” 

“Once I settle things here, I am coming with you,” Halsin said, and his voice brooked no argument. More softly, he added, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Langoth. I swear.” He took him again into his arms and held him. 

They stayed as long as they dared, then Halsin dusted him off--another memory resurfaced, how before he had brushed the dirt from his face, when they had finished. As tenderly as a mother, he set Langoth’s jerkin straight, relacing the top and brushing something invisible from his shoulder. All the while, Langoth looked up at him in a kind of wonderment.

It was only later, in camp, with the preparations for the night’s celebration underway, that he recalled something his eldest brother had told him many years ago. _No one can really protect anyone else in this world. Don’t trust anyone who says they can, brother._


End file.
